The Second Wife
by sorceress2
Summary: Based very loosely on the novel Rebecca. And yes, I am going to make Tomoyo an evil, cold villainess, but it also has SxS. Eriol also plays a minor but evil role. Hey, I'm an absolutely rabid ExT fan, so please be kind. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"You couldn't possibly have!" Was the astonished gasp that met her absent remark, that perhaps she would accept the date after all with the magnetic young man from the beach at Monte Carlo who had such remarkable deep golden eyes. Tonight was her night off, after all, and he had been courteous and engaging, if a little aloof.

Sakura's employer stared at her with open-mouthed shock, stunned into a miraculous silence that was part surprise, and part. . . dismay? Sakura blinked uneasily as Tanekawa Sayuri forgot for once to stare down her nose at anything worth less than a multi-million trust fund. Working as a personal assistant was not in the least as glamorous as the agency had portrayed it, and meeting famous people did not quite compensate for having to cater to their ephemeral whims and self-centered attitudes, too. But the daughter of a small-town college professor could not simply exist in leisure; she had to work hard to simply exist.

"I'm sorry, Tanekawa-sama, but he isn't _involved_ elsewhere, is he?" Oh yes, she had learned to cater to the mannerisms of the wealthy, too. Asking if he was dating or in a relationship would have been tasteless to the extreme, and the one thing Sayuri abhorred above all else was one who was tasteless and/or vulgar. Putting excessive emphasis on the word _involved_ would have been tasteless, and maybe vulgar on top of it, so Sakura was careful to emphasize it slightly but enough to be noticed to the tutored ear. Those two words were some of Sayuri's favorites, condemning them upon anyone who deviated ever so slightly from the accepted norm of the elites. And her condemnation, was quite frankly put, a social death sentence.

Sayuri was staring at a corner of the 16 foot gold-leaf Louis the Sixteenth style ceiling as if it were the most fascinating piece of architecture in the entire world, although she had probably stared at the same corner every time Sakura uttered even a word that discomfited her sense of social norms. It was something she especially hated, too, when people made "scenes" or made themselves otherwise "conspicuous." Sakura hated it too, because she always got that politely vague uncomfortable look that said the person wearing the look was kindly pretending her faux pas had not just happened in the previous moment, but being kind was obviously simply good manners and they were patiently bearing with her until she could acquire some better manners herself, dammit. Well, the dammit was her addition. But then they would give her another look, one that she would translate as "why and how could you possibly be so irreproachably socially retarded that you have to make me give you this look (which forces me to be vulgar, how dare you) so you know that what you did was a mistake?"

"Well he's here alone, just for some fun and oh, you know." The "you know" was accompanied by a hand wave that implied he was not involved with anyone anywhere in the world and was here simply for some short-lived amusement, and with that it was Sayuri's implication that Sakura was the "you know," the short-lived amusement. She was still staring at the corner of the ceiling so that Sakura would have ample time to digest the fact that she would make herself "conspicuous" by assuming she was going on a formal date with someone who perhaps did not mean it as such, and would probably use her because he was not looking for a relationship so Sakura might make a "scene" or be "conspicuous" and thereby embarrass her employer.

Sakura was heartily sick of all of this subliminal message business, and tired of reading implications that could convey the information of a novel when it was implied with only a short sentence. She should have quit long ago, had it not been for the promise that they were headed to Monte Carlo and the beautiful beaches, the fanciful architecture, and the sparkling glamour. But if she wanted to make a fool of herself with someone so much above her, whose business was that? Even before the self-directed question was formed, however, she knew the answer: everyone.

"Well you know he's _young_." Sayuri paused delicately to have the volume of this information sink in and finally looked in her direction with her startling dark eyes, but no more than a few seconds. Because it would have been tasteless to stare inappropriately. There, that was her third favorite word, "inappropriate." By _young_, Sayuri meant that he was not looking for a relationship, and Sakura was pretty presumptuous to read anything into it, or to hope for anything from it.

"Oh I _totally_ noticed. But thanks." Sakura smiled thinly at her employer. Sayuri nodded as if she expected no less from her, that Sakura of all of the personal assistants was most adept at reading these conversations. It was funny, really, that she had once been laughably clueless. Under Sayuri's tutelage, that went in a hurry, when she said harmless things that were greeted with dead silence, or when people avoided her simply because she had waved at the inopportune moment. But still, it felt like a foreign language that she still didn't understand the nuances of.

"Great! Alright then, I'll need you at the pool only until about four, then maybe you can find something to do tonight. See you in a few."

Sakura nodded and smiled.

With that, Sayuri breezed out, looking visibly relieved that her silly personal assistant hadn't committed a faux-pas and, and that she had confirmed that Sakura was absolutely not going to go out on any such date.

Watching her perfect blond hair sway gently out, Sakura mused that Sayuri didn't really mean harm, she was just aghast that anyone should do so many things that made this certain set of people uncomfortable. And many things made these people uncomfortable: saying the word "money" or "cash," mentioning anything remotely positive about themselves, even when pressed, and discussing status quo. These were as incomprehensible to her has she was to Sayuri, but Sayuri was on her side, at least. It was strange how the arbitrary rules could rule all of the wealthy in every corner of the world, even those with nothing in common and no desire to have anything in common with each other.

Wow, was that long-winded and unnecessary or what? But this story is really a social commentary more than anything else, even though it is based on the novel "Rebecca." Social commentary, remember that guys.

In my heart I share the same mindset as Sayuri, because I can say that I have been stared down because of my lack of trust-funds, although it would have been vulgar to be too open about it. But I grew up among people, to whom saying the word "money" was unfathomably awful, and discussing "the way things are" was a horribly uncomfortable thing. I didn't realize what sort of society I lived in until I went to college, where people actually mentioned positive things about themselves and didn't fear that they were being boastful, and discussed race. The only time a teacher attempted to discuss race in my high school, I remember, he was met with stony silence. Mentioning it even was completely tasteless. And you see? Those words of Sayuri's are mine, too. I don't know what that says about me. . .

Next chapter will come some of this mystery guy's friends and his personal habits. . . take a wild stab at who that might be, hmm. . . Know that I base all of his friends exactly off of my own, and they are a hell of a bunch, including the one that wrecks his BMW convertible and gets the same one, but new, express-delivered within the week, because he couldn't live without one. The same goes for the girl and her diamond-studded escape to Madrid, and all of the characters. Those are my friends without any changes whatsoever. I hope you will laugh a little at how over the top they can be, sometimes. "Too much" is another favorite phrase of mine and I will have to use that excessively too. Happy reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The maître d'hôtel had perceptibly wrinkled his nose ever so slightly at her when he escorted Sakura through the establishment to a private room overlooking the central atrium's fountain of carrera marble. It was all gloriously upholstered in burgundy silk-velvet, touched with gold-leaf on the elaborate wainscoting and on the walnut furniture. Fresh-cut sterling roses were indiscriminately scattered throughout the room, but their very randomness hinted at an expert flower-arranger. Their scent deliciously filled the room.

Evening light flooded from the ceiling, which instead of skylights of clear glass used stained windows depicting the four seasons revolving around the sun and moon with star motifs around it all. A man sat seated at the piano, playing a selection of Chopin's dreamy works. Sakura suppressed a desire to smile at him politely, because one does not smile at the hired help, she reminded herself. It would be rude and awkward to invite presumptuousness.

She straightened her sundress nervously, wondering if plain white cotton was too much or not enough or too much of something else or not enough of the same thing. . . Not that she knew what it was too much or too little of. Sayuri's pointedly vague comments were beginning to rule her life, as soft laughter drifted up the hall and the door opened.

Li Syaoran, he had introduced himself. But she saw to her dismay he had brought some friends, a very tall blond young man with a short, slender, dark-haired girl on his arm. Another girl entered with a cascade of diamonds, holding hands with a man of medium height but the air of wealth.

Syaoran smiled at her as he made introductions. His foreign friends from America were brought forward with a discreet boldness from the Cristal and Dom Perignon they had drunk in the Rolls. He propelled her forward to the table, and seated her with panache, asking inevitable questions about her day, her stay here, etc. But he knew she was a personal assistant, and perhaps he didn't know what to make of that, and very politely refrained from even alluding to it.

The tall blond to his left was named David, Nordic pale with hair that was not blond but golden, and pale blue eyes like a husky dog of the north and intensely pale freckled skin only magnified by a casual black suit sans tie. His wife was introduced as Isobel, reed-slender with unusually almond shaped dark eyes, wreathed in a fringe of large peacock-green pearls that glowed with an inner light around a crown of shimmering cacao-colored hair. Her dress flowed over her so effortlessly that it was obviously the work of a designer, if not both designer and custom made, shimmering from a light teal to pale green with varying light. The pearls she wore, simultaneously shouted and whispered their wealth; they shimmered darkly peacock green and aqua-grey, seemingly illuminated from within by a soft light that was turquoise-colored, the turquoise matching the dress exactly.

The girl who was the youngest laughed with a frivolous voice; her name was Winter and she was roped with diamonds hanging like pale cascades of light, and a spotless white dress that was almost but not quite sheer, embroidered with pearls strategically. Upon seeing Sakura with her white cotton dress, she had raised a frosty pale eyebrow and disdained looking at her again from her clear, pale grey eyes. Her face was so delicate it seemed made of bone-china, a fine thin-bridged nose and high forehead that hinted at aristocratic breeding. She was on the arm of Hunt, short for Huntington, who looked so sure that he could buy anything that he disdained much more than a glance at her and a civil nod.

Sakura, being the guest of honor, sat at one end of the long banqueting table, large enough for three dozen, plus the head and end of the table. She politely chatted with David, every so often eliciting a laugh from Isobel where she hadn't meant to be funny.

"So I mean, I really didn't

Syaoran, at the far end, was making another witty joke to the delight of Winter. Something about her voice was frivolous, careless, heartless yet so utterly fascinating that Sakura had never met anyone quite like her. Isobel, too, possessed an undefinable something that made you want to look at her again, an imperial tilt of the head, a gracefully practiced aloofness, a soft voice that seemed to reverberate through the room.

As the evening wore on, however, Winter giggling every time that Sakura said the word 'money' was really beginning to pall, as she couldn't even see Syaoran. A long row of three-foot tall candelabras curving with outrageous golden ornamentation marched with soldierly precision down the table, and between the lush profusion of the white orchid arrangements –in their own matching gold rococo bowls with lion's feet- she tilted sideways to make eye-contact with her date. The topic was kept purposely light and teasing, and there was a profusion that hinted, subtly and not so subtly, as to why certain pairs of people within the room were not married. Sakura ventured another joke, too, and teasingly asked why Syaoran had come to Monte Carlo alone.

"Now why did you not bring a date to Monte Carlo?"

Dead silence met her sally, a raised eyebrow from the girls, with the guys politely staring at anywhere but her.

"Oh…I'm terribly sorry, was there something I said?"

Syaoran smiled distantly.

"No, my dear, it is just that my wife has been dead for nearly a year now…"

Isobel turned her head ever so slightly and looked at her, a startling and direct look from eyes like deep, dark pools. She then turned to make some light remark on the waiter's unfortunate service, and the conversation resumed its buoyancy.

Questions and Comments Welcome!

Well, I'm sure glad that you know how to find the best Tahitian pearls, now. :) If I think like Sayuri, then I look and will behave very much like Isobel. She is an amalgam of myself and a best friend of mine, Camille. Her first and middle names are Camille Faye, isn't that pretty? Isobel's middle name will be Faye.

And yes, green is my undisputed color I am known for, that I claim among my friends as my own. The young girl with the frivolous voice is my friend Astrid (no I am not making up that name) who wants to name her daughter Winter. She is old French and German aristocracy, and she looks like it. Not many people look like that, fragile and easy to break and beautiful in that very thin-chiselled way. Also Winter's sister that comes in will be based on my friends Tessa and Ann-Katrin, one from Winchester in Britain and the other from Schleisswig-Holstein in Germany near Immensee. They are both strawberry blonds, so that's why I wanted to make them one character.

David is actually David in real life, who belongs to "the crew." They call themselves that because they are on the crew team, and they wear J. Crew, and they look like a walking advertisement for it. It's very cute, and they've spoiled me for anybody who doesn't look like that. Hunt is based off Astrid's boyfriend Carey, that's short for Carrington. No kidding, those are seriously their names: Carrington and Astrid. Crazy, isn't it? David and I are not involved, though, and neither are he and Camille.

So here are the names of the characters, first and middle:

Isobel Faye

Huntington Brenton

David Alistair

Winter Adelaide

Adelaide is Astrid's middle name; it's medieval French. Alistair is David's middle name, and I used Brenton because I would love to name somebody that and their nickname would be Brent.

My friend's names:

Camille Faye

Brittany Dawn

Astrid Adelaide

David Alistair

Carrington…?

Ann-Katrin von Eschenbach (not her last name, only the first last name from the mother)

Tessa D'Oberville (first and middle name—she's named after the novel "Tess of the D'Obervilles"—that is just so cool)

I know, I know, and I didn't make it up. I just thought it was time to share my life, instead of clamming up. It's therapeutic. And on I can say anything I want without thinking about it much.

Well, I hope everybody is still interested in this social commentary that kind of mirrors my life in the lifestyle and the people.


End file.
